


I'm A Fool

by thepinupchemist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Annoying Brothers, Blow Jobs, Both of them are 18, Car Blow Jobs, Cas effs up, Coming Out, Cross Country Runner Castiel, High School, Impala, Jock Castiel, M/M, Mary Lives, Pining, Punk Dean, Punk Dean/Jock Castiel, commission, gay slurs, not really - Freeform, sort of gay panic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:16:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5393906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepinupchemist/pseuds/thepinupchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak, record-breaking distance runner and notorious goody-two-shoes, realizes that of all the people in the universe, he finds Dean Winchester the prettiest. </p><p>Dean thinks Castiel would be better off finding somebody in a cardigan than a pierced, angry, smoking mess, but against his better judgment decides that kissing Castiel is too good to pass up. </p><p>It's too bad that they can't actually be together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm A Fool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neveranygoodupthere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveranygoodupthere/gifts).



**I’m A Fool**

**Soundtrack: Green Eyes – Wavves**

The truth was that underneath the heavy black eyeliner, under the heavy piercings and stretched ears, under the holey black t-shirts, ripped jeans and studded leather jacket, under the ever-changing colored hair, Dean Winchester was _pretty._ Castiel Novak, of course, had no intention of letting anyone else in on the knowledge, firstly because no one could know that the Smoky Vista High School’s star cross country runner thought any boy was pretty, but secondly (and perhaps more importantly) because Castiel selfishly wanted Dean to himself.

Not that he and Dean Winchester had ever spoken.

No, Castiel’s interaction with Dean was limited to AP Lit and the required gym class that, despite Castiel’s status as well-known and successful athlete, he had not been able to get out of. Even then, Dean kept to himself. In Lit, he stowed himself in the corner of the classroom next to the window that looked out over the middle school, always frowning at whatever he stared at outside. In gym, Dean suffered through laps and workouts like the rest of them, always looking out of place in his maroon Smoky Vista gym t-shirt, on which _Dean W._ was sharpied (with somewhat more flourish than the rest of their gym glass, as the ‘A’ in Dean was actually an anarchy symbol).

Gym class, in fact, was what brought Castiel to his momentous realization of Dean Winchester’s prettiness.

Boys weren’t supposed to stare at other boys in the locker room showers. Castiel knew that. That knowledge didn’t stop him from staring at Dean from over the tiled half-wall partition that separated their shower stalls. His acid-green hair pasted to his forehead under the steady stream, and his makeup ran down his cheeks. Dean scrubbed at his eyes and muttered a string of swear words under his breath at the black that came away on his hands.

Castiel didn’t realize the intensity of his gaze until Dean glanced up and stared right back. His eyes were green. Very green. Extremely green. The remains of Dean’s eyeliner tracked down freckled cheeks and in the wake of its absence, Castiel could make out a fringe of long, long eyelashes stuck in points from moisture and framing those striking green eyes.

“You got a fuckin’ problem, douchebag?” Dean asked. His voice rumbled.

Castiel felt the blood rush to his face, but he couldn’t make himself look away. His heart sped up. He wracked his brain for something to say, some reasonable explanation for staring Dean Winchester down like a starving relative at a Thanksgiving turkey, but nothing immediate came to mind.

No, because Castiel could not rein in his awkwardness, he reached out and brushed away the running, cheap eyeliner from Dean’s cheekbone. The second he realized what he was doing he whipped his hand back as though electrocuted and cleared his throat. He said, “Um. You. Uh. Had stuff. On your face.”

Dean didn’t seem to know what to say. He touched his face where Castiel’s hand had been and then stared at his fingertips, struck. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. Before Castiel scraped up the wherewithal to apologize for _touching Dean Winchester’s face_ , Dean slammed the water off, slapped a towel around his waist, and hustled away from the shower stalls.

As Dean Winchester’s form retreated, Castiel let his forehead smack against the tile beside the showerhead and groaned. Not because he thought his reputation would be shredded by the time he dried himself off and redressed – he didn’t think Dean would say a word about what just transpired – but because a familiar simmer started in Castiel’s bloodstream. The simmer said _yes, this one,_ and Castiel was done for. He had a crush on Dean Winchester.

Dean Winchester was the prettiest boy that Castiel ever laid eyes on, and without a doubt, Castiel had a crush.

**X**

Dean didn’t go to his final class of the day. Instead, after he redressed in the locker room and threw his damp towel in his locker, he stalked off to the guys’ bathroom tucked away behind the second floor science wing of the high school. He’d only been in this shitty place since the start of his senior year, and he found the bathroom within the first two days of his arrival. No one used it. He wasn’t sure anyone even cleaned it or changed out the toilet paper rolls or any of that. It just _was_ , dusty and silent, tinged with the faint odors of cigarette smoke and teenage angst.

A cigarette sounded like a godsend, come to think of it, but Dean first shoved his backpack onto the sink counter and pulled out the pencil case he used as a makeup bag. His dad told him it was girly and he shouldn’t be wearing makeup, lest someone think him a ‘fag.’ Dean’s mom told his dad to shut up and that they’d encourage Dean to be himself.

Dean appreciated the support from his mom, but being himself required him to know who that was and he didn’t, so he’d just stick with looking like some vomit combination of Sid Vicious and Billie Joe Armstrong and probably a couple of other things until he figured it out.

With a hand steadier than he felt, Dean wiped down the flaking runoff of his makeup from this morning and traced new eyeliner across his lids. He surveyed himself in the mirror. His hair was drying all flat and weird because he left the locker room so damn quick, so he wet his hands under the metallic-smelling faucet water and messed it up so it stood green and spiky and everywhere. He looked okay, probably.

What the hell was that Castiel guy’s problem?

Dean wasn’t delusional. He didn’t think Castiel was a part of some school elite that held themselves above the rest of the student body – but he did think that Castiel lived in a world unlike Dean’s own. He knew the guy lived in one of those giant houses in the neighborhood that Dean drove past taking himself and Sam to and from school.  He got good grades and put trophies in the glass case near the high school’s main entrance. Dean saw them. Castiel Novak broke records.

If Dean broke any records, they were vinyl and probably belonged to his dad who’d yell at the top of his lungs when it happened, despite pretending that he didn’t have a gnarly punk phase in the seventies before he enlisted and met mom and generally cleaned up his act.

Before Dean could help it, he thought about Castiel again. He thought about blue eyes and windswept hair and a dumb maroon letterman jacket. Sammy wanted to be a runner too. He was on the middle school cross country team, who had to share the track space with the high school team since they didn’t have a track of their own. Not that the high school team needed it, usually. They went running through the surrounding neighborhoods topless like that was just a thing people did. Not that Dean looked when they – aw, screw it. He stared at Castiel. He did it a lot.

Thing was, before the weirdness that was today, Castiel didn’t notice Dean back. Dean loitered on the bleachers near the track while he waited around for Sam to finish cross country practice, but Castiel never looked up and saw him. Granted, the high school runners were only ever briefly at the track, but would it kill the guy to acknowledge Dean’s presence?

Dean flicked aside the eyeliner sticks and drugstore brand eyeshadow to get to his prize: his cigarettes. If mom found out, she’d flush every single one down the toilet. If Sammy found out, he’d be disappointed. If dad found out – well, dad wasn’t going to find out. Dean fished his lighter out of the pocket of his ratty jeans and lit up, slumped against the counter with relief as nicotine sparked in his system.

For the remainder of the period, Dean sat in the bathroom with his headphones in his ears, and two minutes before the bell was due to ring, he slipped out and trekked down to the track. He already itched for another cigarette, anxiety spiked by the weird shower incident, but he wouldn’t let Sammy see him smoking.

Dean should have expected that he would run headlong into Castiel Novak, being out on the track and all, but he didn’t.

Initial annoyance at being slammed into crossed Castiel’s face, but it dropped like a hot potato the moment he laid eyes on Dean.

“Oh,” Castiel said, “What are you doing out here? You smell like cigarette smoke.”

“Probably because I smoked a cigarette,” Dean replied.

It was the best that he could do under the circumstances. Castiel was lean and tanned, his t-shirt off his body and tucked into the elastic waistband of his running shorts. He looked good and Dean plus Dean’s body knew Castiel looked good.

Castiel cocked his head. He said, “You never answered my question. What are you doing out here?”

“Little brother,” Dean said. He made a vague motion in the direction of the middle school and said, “He’s on the team over there. I’m his ride home, so…”

Castiel squinted and said, “I didn’t know you had a little brother.”

“You don’t talk to me, so I guess that’s not a surprise.”

“Do you…want me to talk to you?”

The question threw Dean into scrambling for a snappy retort, but he didn’t have one at the ready. He glanced around the track, where a couple more of the high school runners were beginning to show up, and at the hill where the middle school runners were descending with water bottles and grins in hand.

“I, uh,” Dean managed, “You’re all right. I guess. Don’t you have running to do?”

Castiel nodded, “I do. I’ll see you around, Dean.”

Castiel took off to join his running buddies, and for a moment Dean stood stunned on the rubber track. It wasn’t like he didn’t have any friends at all. He had Charlie and Ash and a couple other kids that didn’t fit into any other niche group. But he didn’t get talked to by athletes too sexy for their own good.

“Dean!”

Sam waved to him from the group of middle schoolers. He was tall now, almost as all as Dean, and 80% limbs. Dean waved back, and dutifully took his seat on the bleachers. He put his headphones back in his ears and reclined his head on his backpack as he watched Sam run and laugh with the other kids. Already Sam had more friends than Dean did, which wasn’t a surprise. Sammy was sure of things in a way that Dean never was. Sam knew what he wanted, and who he was, and he went for it. The kid was thirteen and already better at being a human than Dean.

It rankled, but life went on.

There was annoying shit when it came to little brothers, a wisdom proven further once Sam finished practice and they climbed into the Impala.

“Did I see you talking to Castiel Novak?” asked Sam.

“Uh.”

“You totally were. He’s so cool, Dean. Did you know he’s broken almost all the state distance running records? Isn’t that awesome? He helps me sometimes since he gets back to the track before the rest of his team.”

Castiel had been helping Sam with his running? How did Dean not notice that?

“You’re always asleep so you never see.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” asked Sam, “Do you _like_ him?”

Dean blushed before he could help it. He knew he did, and Sam pounced on him like he was a cheetah sinking his claws into a gazelle on the goddamn Serengeti. He accused, “You do! You have a crush on Castiel Novak!”

“Shut up,” Dean said, “Don’t say it that loud.”

Sam rolled his eyes and said, “Ugh, you’re so stupid sometimes, Dean. It’s 2015. No one cares where you stick it anymore.”

“Sammy!”

“What?” It’s true,” Sam said.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Dean told him sternly, leveling a firm look at his little brother as soon as they reached a stoplight.

Sam’s expression of malicious glee softened just a little. He sighed, “I won’t. But like, Dean. Come on. Mom won’t care that you like girls _and_ boys. And dad’ll get over it.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

They left it at that.

**X**

Something shifted.

Castiel wasn’t sure what happened, but somehow he ended up sitting beside Dean Winchester in AP Lit and talking to him in gym class. Dean didn’t say much back, but when silence fell between them it was never awkward, just comfortable.

He was nonetheless surprised when Dean sat down across from him during Castiel’s off period.

“Hey,” Dean said.

Castiel squinted. “Don’t you have geometry right now?” he asked.

Dean shrugged one shoulder and said, “Didn’t feel like going. What are you doing?”

Castiel looked down at the books spread out over the library table and replied, “Biology homework.”

“Sounds boring,” said Dean, “Let’s go do something.”

“Do something?” Castiel echoed. He studied Dean. His hair was blue now. His facial piercings glinted in the fluorescent lighting of the high school library, and Castiel felt particularly drawn to the ring in Dean’s lower lip. He wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips, except that he wasn’t supposed to be thinking those things.

“Yeah,” Dean said, “The mall’s like five minutes away and I have a car. Live a little.”

“I suppose…I could do that,” Castiel said.

Ten minutes later, they were in Dean’s car. It smelled like leather, and when Dean turned the key in the ignition, the music that blared from the speakers was so loud that Castiel flinched back into his seat. Dean chuckled and fiddled with the volume knob. He said, “Sorry about that. You probably listen to some NPR shit when you drive to school.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Dude, you do? I was joking,” said Dean, “Do you even listen to music?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” Castiel asked.

“What _do_ you listen to?” Dean shot back.

“I like the classical station.”

“Of course you do.”

“My parents don’t approve of modern music,” Castiel found himself saying, “They’re very religious.”

“You say that like you’re not,” Dean said.

Castiel shrugged and replied, “I suppose I am. I think I believe in God.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to know there’s a God if you’re religious, not just think there’s one,” Dean said.

“Well, I haven’t been presented with any evidence that such a God does or does not exist, so I’m withholding judgment for now.”

“Huh,” said Dean, “That’s very Spock of you.”

“Does that make you Kirk?” asked Castiel, “You are the one driving.”

Dean let out a loud, husky belly-laugh. He said, “Sure. You can be Spock and I can be Kirk. I like it.”

A beat of silence passed between them, with nothing but Dean’s angry music fizzling from the speakers to fill it. Castiel felt compelled to add to his assessment of God, “I have been thinking more about Christianity lately in any case. Some of it doesn’t make as much sense to me as it used to.”

Dean eyed him and said, “You’re just saying that because you want to drink out of Satan’s Starbucks cup, aren’t you?”

Castiel laughed.

And fifteen minutes after that, he was enjoying a gingerbread latte from the belly of Satan’s Starbucks cup. He slurped it happily while Dean enjoyed a pumpkin spice latte (Castiel swore confidence regarding the contents of Dean’s cup).

“Let’s stop here,” Castiel said, and pointed to the Hot Topic, “I want to see if my brother’s working.”

“Your brother works at Hot Topic?” Dean asked, brows lifting.

“I’m the only one that talks to him,” Castiel replied, “He told our family at Thanksgiving that he’s pansexual and they can ‘get fucked’ if they think there’s something wrong with it.” Castiel put air quotes around ‘get fucked.’

Some strange feeling nudged at Castiel’s brain when he thought about his own sexuality. Sometimes he felt like, without thinking about it, he fell into the role of the obedient son. He watched Michael do it before him. Luke and Gabe were the screw-ups, the ones that rebelled, and so Michael and Castiel fell in step opposite their brothers into the role of the good sons. The ones to be proud of. What if Castiel decided he didn’t like that role anymore? He snuck a sideways glance at Dean at the thought, thought of how pretty Dean was, and decided to tuck that thought away for further consideration.

“Dean-o!” Gabriel exclaimed when they walked past the registers in the Hot Topic, “and Cassie? What’s up, kiddo? This who you’re hanging out with nowadays?”

Dean looked sharply at Castiel and said, “Your brother is _Gabe_?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered, “Though I can see how that might be a surprise. That answers both your questions.” Gabe, like Dean, wore eyeliner around his eyes. His honey-colored hair wasn’t dyed, but he did have a septum ring that seemed to get bigger every time Castiel laid eyes on it.

Dean clapped his hand on Castiel’s shoulder and announced, “I’m taking a look at the tongue rings. Be right back.”

The look on Castiel’s face at the mention of a tongue ring must have been something incriminating, because Gabriel’s eyebrows soared high on his forehead. He asked, “Do you have a hard-on for that punk?”

“No,” Castiel said, too quickly.

“Hoo boy,” Gabriel whistled, “First Luke, now me, next you. Dad’s gonna wonder if The Gay was in mom’s womb juice.”

“That’s disgusting, Gabriel,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, all right, you don’t want to talk about it,” Gabriel said, “Nice try for the change of subject, though. I won’t bug you. But just for the record – and listen to me. Are you listening to me?”

“I’m listening,” said Castiel, trying not to feel mortified under the microscope expression Gabriel stared at him with. It made his mouth dry with nerves.

Gabriel leveled a look at Castiel that was unlike anything he had seen from his brother before. Seriousness eclipsed play, and he rested a hand on Castiel’s forearm as he spoke. He said, “If there’s some reason – and I’m not saying there is – that mom and dad might freak out and boot you out of the house, you can always come to me. My apartment’s kind of shitty but I’d never cheap out on a comfy couch. I know mom and dad blocked my number from everyone’s phones, but –”

“You knew that?” asked Castiel.

“Well, yeah. I didn’t think you _all_ would stop texting me. I put two and two together. If it came down to it, you could come here and I’d take you back to my place,” said Gabe.

Castiel swallowed. He asked quietly, “What if…what if you weren’t here?”

“I’m the boss man, dude,” Gabriel said, “I’ll just have my underlings on alert to call me if you show up here and ask for me. Okay?”

“Okay,” Castiel said.

Dean inserted himself back into the conversation with a, “Hey, Gabe, I need this Batman tongue ring!” Gabriel gave Castiel’s arm a pat and ducked aside to help to Dean.

With half-drunk Starbucks and a Hot Topic bag in hand, Castiel and Dean left the mall, Castiel far more pensive than when he arrived. He peeled at the cardboard cup sleeve after he buckled himself into Dean’s black monster of a car, and watched while Dean changed out the jewelry in his mouth, sticking his tongue out and feeling around for the hole in it.

“You okay?” Dean asked, as he screwed the end of his tongue ring on – except he still had his tongue out, so it sounded more like “OOO okah?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel answered honestly.

“Wanna talk about it?” asked Dean, tongue ring now in place.

Castiel hesitated, but it seemed his mouth began to work before his brain could stop it. He said, “Sometimes I feel like…I play this part. I love running and I’m very good at it, and I genuinely like most of the guys on the team. But they know me as Christian Castiel or Castiel the Virgin or things like that because I never do anything that I’m not supposed to do. I’m never anybody but who I’m supposed to be. And I’ve always had this idea that I might – might not be that person. Ever since I was little.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dean. His full attention was on Castiel, and nothing could be more unnerving in that moment. Serious green eyes ringed in eyeliner laser-focused on Castiel as he spoke, pierced lips turned down in a thoughtful frown.

 _To hell with it_ , Castiel decided. If anybody was going to judge him for possibly being attracted to men, it wasn’t going to be Dean Winchester. He was the least judgmental person Castiel knew. But Castiel couldn’t do it while looking Dean in the eye, so he took a sip from his drink and stared at the white lid as he spoke. He said, voice small, “What if I liked boys?”

Dean was silent for a moment, so silent that Castiel dared a peek at him. He was smiling.

“Well, as my little brother says,” Dean told him, “It’s 2015. No one cares where you stick it anymore.”

Castiel couldn’t help the bark of surprised laughter that erupted from his mouth.

**X**

Castiel started hanging out with Dean Winchester on the sly – at least he thought he was being sly. They didn’t sit together at lunch or anything, but they did hang out in the minutes between Castiel’s arrival back at the track from the team’s after school runs and the time it took for Sam to finish his own cross country practice. Sometimes Dean ditched geometry to join Castiel on his off period. And somehow, Castiel started lying to his parents about having projects to work on with Dean so that they could spend weekends together trolling around the mall and making up stories for the various people that they watched while drinking coffee or eating pizza.

Only Castiel must not have been as careful as he thought, because when he arrived at the locker room on Wednesday after school to swap his clothes for cross country practice, Balthazar was eyeing him.

“What?” asked Castiel.

“You need to be careful,” Bal said.

“Careful?”

“Yeah. You’re hanging around that Dean kid and if your parents find out they’re going to freak, Cassie,” Balthazar said.

Balthazar wasn’t wrong. He attended the same church as Castiel and their parents were friends, except that Balthazar was a hellraiser and everyone knew it. He’d been in the pants of at least a dozen different girls, snuck out to parties and arrived back home drunk, and reportedly once got high in the second story bathroom behind the science wing. Partying aside, Balthazar looked out for his own, and that somehow came to include Castiel over the years.

“Yes, they will,” Castiel agreed, “but I’m not certain I care about that anymore.”

Balthazar didn’t have time to mask his look of shock. He said, “Wait, what?”

“I like him,” Castiel said, “Now get dressed, or we’ll be late.”

When Castiel arrived on the track, the middle schoolers were already running laps around it, and Dean sat on the bleachers. He waved at Castiel and Castiel waved back. The team wouldn’t question it. Or maybe they would, but only because he went to church with a lot of them and the parents of his teammates would question a friendship with Dean Winchester and therefore taught their children to do the same when the children in question were ultimately less judgmental than their parents.

Coach’s voice droned in Castiel’s ears but he didn’t really hear the words, just something about Friday’s meet and blah, blah, blah. When they took off running, it didn’t matter. He felt balanced when he ran. To the rhythm of his steps, Castiel’s mind fell into equilibrium. He considered Dean Winchester and his pretty face. He considered what it might be like to taste the Batman tongue ring he knew to be in Dean’s mouth.

“Good work, Castiel!” Coach applauded, when Castiel arrived back at the track even faster than he usually did, “Keep up a speed like that and you’ll smash another record on Friday.”

“I’ll do my best,” Castiel said seriously. Before going to the locker room to shower, he did a handful of rudimentary stretches – only he decided not to go to the locker room after all when he met Dean’s eyes from across the track. He jerked his head in a clear _come here_ motion, and though confusion crossed Dean’s face, he followed.

Castiel lead Dean under the bleachers. They weren’t hidden from sight fully by any means, but hidden enough that Castiel didn’t think twice about grabbing Dean’s wrist to tug him along closer.

“Cas, what are we doing down here?” asked Dean.

“I want to try something,” Castiel told Dean, which wasn’t untrue.

“I don’t smoke in front of Sammy, sorry,” said Dean.

Castiel rolled his eyes. He said, “That’s not what I meant. I meant this.” And before Castiel could talk himself out of it, he looped his arms around Dean’s neck and pressed one firm, sure kiss to Dean’s lips. The lip ring was warmer than Castiel expected, but then, he supposed it did sit close to Dean’s skin.

Dean didn’t react, and the adrenaline from Castiel’s run and the initial kiss of lips wore down just enough for Castiel to feel like a idiot for kissing Dean without knowing whether or not Dean actually wanted to do that with him. He opened his mouth to apologize, but managed not a single word before Dean leaned in and closed his mouth over Castiel’s in a harder, more enthusiastic kiss.

The tip of Dean’s tongue ran along the seam of Castiel’s lips and he let him in, reveled in the sensation of Dean’s tongue stroking over his, of the tongue ring exploring the corners of his mouth. Castiel couldn’t help the little noise that escaped his throat.

For whatever reason, Castiel’s moan made Dean pull back and chuckle. He asked, “What was that for?”

“I just wanted to.”

“Yeah, and why’s that?” Dean asked, “What’s a nice boy like you want with a bad guy like me?”

Castiel made a face and protested, “You’re not a bad guy.”

“It was a joke, Cas.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, “Well. I did it because I like you.”

Dean’s cheeks turned pink. He rubbed the back of his neck and replied, “Jeez, Cas.”

“What? Is that not something I’m supposed to say?” asked Castiel, “I’ve never really liked somebody enough to kiss them, and that was my first kiss, so I’m unsure of the protocol.”

“That was your first kiss?” Dean asked, “Dude!”

“What?”

“Your first kiss is supposed to be some nice Christian girl at the Sadie Hawkins or some shit, not _me_.”

“That’s too bad. I don’t think I’m attracted to women, and I already used up my first kiss on you in any case,” Castiel said, “and I was hoping I’d get to use my second and third kisses on you too, if you’re amenable to that.”

“Of course I’m  - c’mere, dipshit,” Dean said. He pulled Castiel in once more. This kiss was slower but no less intense. Dean kept his mouth on Castiel’s for a long time, letting their tongues play against one another. He only broke away to press small, wet kisses to the column of Castiel’s throat. Castiel tried doing a little bit of the same, scraping his teeth against Dean’s skin and sucking.

“Careful,” Dean whispered, “Don’t give me a hickey I can’t explain away.”

“Why not? I want to give you a hickey.”

Dean laughed a little more. He stroked his hand through Castiel’s hair, and Cas noticed that his nails were painted a sloppy black. Dean said, “One step at a time, okay? I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me. Also, no offense, you’re pretty smelly right now, dude.”

“I’m – oh, yes,” Castiel said, because he hadn’t yet showered. That did present some issues. He said, “I’m going to go now.”

“See you ‘round, Cas,” Dean said, a smile curling up the edges of his lips, “Let’s do that again sometime.”

“Yes. That sounds like an excellent idea.”

Castiel retreated from the bleachers. From the look of it, no one had seen them duck under there together. The middle schoolers were occupied with their practice and Coach was talking to Uriel, probably urging him to try doing track come the season again.

When Castiel ducked into the locker room, Garth and a couple of his other teammates gave him curious looks.

“What are you all staring at?” Castiel asked.

“You’re out of breath,” Garth said, “The run wasn’t that bad, was it?”

**X**

Dean spent the evening on cloud fucking nine. Sammy noticed in the car on the drive back home, but Dean didn’t let on why he was so damn cheerful. It was less easy to misdirect his mom, who was currently staring at him from across a plate of homemade chicken parm. Dad was working late again, as often he did, so Mary arranged a plate for him in the oven so neither of her teenagers would gnaw through it like they did the rest of the meal.

“You’re in a good mood,” Mary Winchester observed.

Dean knew he was blushing, but it didn’t stop it from happening. He moved his bite of chicken around his plate with a fork and said, “I, uh, had a good day.”

“He wouldn’t tell me either,” Sam said glumly.

“Is it a girl?” asked Mary.

“What? No,” said Dean. He stuffed his food in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to answer any following questions, but the tactic wasn’t as successful as he hoped it would be.

As soon as Dean chewed and swallowed, Mary ventured, “…is it a boy?”

The question had Dean whipping his attention to his little brother. He said, “Sam! You said you wouldn’t tell them!”

“But I didn’t,” Sam insisted.

Uneasy, Dean returned his attention to his mother, whose hands were folded on the table in front of her, a vague smile on her face. He didn’t know what to say, so he waited for her to speak. Mary said, “I think there’s a boy that you should be telling me about.”

Dean was redder than a cherry tomato. He could feel the heat in his face. He scratched a hand through his blue hair, for a moment pausing to consider what it would look like if he changed it to fire engine red. He licked his lips and muttered, “His name is Cas.”

Beside Dean, Sam let out a gasp.

“You’re boyfriends with _Castiel Novak_?” Sam demanded.

“We’re not boyfriends, idiot,” Dean said, “We just kissed.”

Mary scolded, “Dean, don’t call your brother names. Who on earth is Castiel Novak?”

“Only the best runner ever,” Sam cut in, “He’s number one in the entire state, mom. He’s so cool. I can’t believe he let you kiss him, Dean.”

“Excuse you,” Dean said, affronted, “ _He_ kissed _me_.”

“Who would kiss you?” asked Sam, “That’s gross.”

“Sam, be nice,” Mary said, and then to Dean, “Well, I hope you’ll invite him to dinner soon.”

“Um, I dunno about that,” Dean said.

Mary’s brows hitched. She asked, “Why? What’s wrong?”

Dean made a vague motion in the air with his fork and said, “His folks are super religious. I guess two of his brothers already got the boot for not being…you know, straight.”

“It doesn’t have to be a boyfriend thing,” Sam piped up, “Can’t you just invite him for dinner?”

“Sam, don’t be stupid,” Dean said, “Look at me. Do I look like the kind of person a nice Christian boy hangs out with? No, I do not.” Dean dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter and dragged his chair back. He managed a terse, “Thanks for dinner, mom,” and stalked off toward his bedroom.

“Dean, honey –” he heard his mom protest, but he stalked to the bedroom he shared with Sam and closed the door behind him.

Dean climbed up onto his bunk and lay on his back. Maybe if he asked Cas would come for dinner, but it seemed like that would be too much to want from him. Cas had a future. He could get a running scholarship to a fancy college and go for basically anything – the guy was so smart. Dean wasn’t as smart. He wasn’t dumb either. He just wasn’t the kind of person that anybody wanted for their kid as far as a partner in crime went, especially not the kind of person that Castiel’s rich-ass parents would want. Hell, they wouldn’t want a guy in the first place, but Dean would bet his fuzzy dice that Cas’ folks might come around if Cas brought home a guy in a Mister Rogers sweater instead of a guy with a tongue ring.

**X**

Dean’s thoughts continued to war the next morning, when he readied himself for school. He threw a Buzzcocks t-shirt on underneath his leather jacket, the beloved relic from his dad’s days in the 1970s as a punk with a mohawk. Sam bugged Dean on the drive to school with questions about Cas and his family and “would Cas really get kicked out if he told his parents he liked boys?”

Dean didn’t answer any of them, because he wasn’t sure himself.

He was relieved when geometry came around, because there was always an excuse to ditch if the class was geometry. He tucked himself away in the upstairs bathroom, smoked a cigarette, and then made a stealthy run to the library to find Castiel.

Cas was in one of the study booths by the window, the sunshine from outside lighting up his bedhead like a halo. He wore a Smoky Vista High School cross country t-shirt, and Dean couldn’t help but notice how nice it looked hugging Castiel’s chest. Cas looked up before Dean even made it to his table, and gave a shy wave and a gummy smile. It made Dean feel like birds were pecking at his insides…in a good way.

“Hey,” Dean said.

“How’s geometry?” asked Cas, deadpan.

“It’s great,” Dean said, “I’m getting so much out of not being there.”

Castiel chuckled and glanced down at his work. He said, “I don’t know why I even bother to take out my homework when I know you’re just going to show up here and distract me anyway.”

“Am I a good distraction?” asked Dean.

“Do you want to know the answer to that?” asked Castiel.

“Probably not,” said Dean, “You wanna make out under the bleachers?”

“I think that sounds like an excellent plan.”

Which was how Dean and Cas landed outside, under the bleachers beside the track, but also on the ground. Dean somehow ended up underneath Cas, whose runner’s thighs made one hell of a trap, pinning Dean in the patchy grass and dandelions below.

“You look super hot from this angle,” Dean said.

“I do?”

“Yeah.”

They kissed a little…or a lot. Neither noticed how much time passed until the bell rang. Dean swore under his breath and they gathered their backpacks to hustle back to class before they were missed.

Dean didn’t pay much attention in his biology class, or even in the line for lunch where he picked out some vaguely meat-like slab of something that had a kind of sauce or something on it. It would taste like wet cardboard. Usually he went to sit with Charlie and Ash, but Charlie was out with the flu and Ash was MIA. Dean spotted Castiel sitting with some of his cross country teammates at a table by the window.

Nerves clogged up Dean’s throat. Cas and all his friends looked so…normal. None of them had ever been mean to him, or at least he didn’t think they had. He made natural enemies because of the way he looked. Kids with fear-goggles that hated difference gave him a hard time and he’d been known to get roughed up a time or two, despite being able to hold his own.

“Uh, hey,” Dean said, when he realized he was standing in front of the damn table and all of Cas’ friends were staring him down.

“What do you want?” one of the guys asked – Dean thought his name was Uriel or something, but he wasn’t sure.

“To sit?” Dean said, mouth dry.

Uriel laughed, and so did a couple of the others. Another asked, “You know this guy, Castiel?”

“Yes,” Cas said slowly, “His name is Dean.”

“Well, get rid of him, man,” said another, “There’s no room over here.” There was room, but Dean didn’t point it out. He was frozen to the spot with his stupid Styrofoam tray of crappy school food, wishing he was anywhere but the place that he was standing. It was stupid. He was going to be eighteen in January. He shouldn’t still be scared of a bunch of assholes, but here they were.

“Dean, may I speak to you for a moment?” asked Castiel.

“Sure,” Dean said, which was the exact opposite of how he felt.

Castiel herded Dean to a corner and asked, “What was that?”

“What was what?” asked Dean.

“Why did you come over to me and the team? We’re supposed to be subtle, Dean,” Cas said, “Some of those guys go to church with me. They can’t know about …this.” He motioned between the two of them.

“I just,” Dean started, “My friends aren’t here and I thought…I thought I could sit with you.”

A weird look crossed Castiel’s face. Dean didn’t like it. Cas opened his mouth, closed it again, and then said, “Dean, we aren’t friends.”

Dean’s stomach dropped. He said, “Oh. But I thought…”

“You thought wrong,” Castiel said, “Don’t bother me again.”

When Dean’s voice came out, it felt like it was some other person talking. He said, “Okay. I won’t bother you anymore.”

**X**

Castiel felt like the worst kind of person.  He didn’t know why he did it. Something about the way that Uriel looked at Dean and then at Castiel said that he _knew_ , and Uriel went to church with him. Uriel was the kind of kid that would tell his parents that Castiel was kissing boys, and then Uriel’s parents would tell Castiel’s parents, and then Castiel would be living at Gabriel’s shitty apartment with no future. So he opened his stupid mouth and told Dean that they weren’t friends.

He watched Dean’s heart break wide open over his face. Dean wasn’t good at keeping his emotions under wraps. They read right on his face, and Castiel never wanted to see an emotion like the one bled from every pore of Dean like the blood of fucking Christ.

Some of the guys at the table laughed about it, laughed about Dean wanting to sit with Castiel. _What a loser_ , they said, or _Can you believe the nerve of that freak_? Balthazar and Garth didn’t laugh. Bal actually squeezed Castiel’s hand under the table, but Cas snatched it away. He didn’t deserve that. He should apologize.

But wanting to apologize warred with the strong sense of self-preservation. He didn’t want to battle with his parents. He just wanted to make it through high school alive. He could be gay later, when his living situation didn’t depend on his heterosexuality.

But…

It didn’t feel right.

And Castiel was a coward. He didn’t run for shit at Friday’s meet. He sulked all the way through the weekend, through homework and family dinners and church on Sunday.

And then Sunday turned into _Sundays._ Castiel ran. Castiel went to church. Castiel ignored Dean.

The feeling of wrongness festered. It started low in his gut and entered his bloodstream. The wrongness was some sick combination of feeling like a terrible human being and desperately wanting to kiss Dean Winchester on his stupid face. When Dean changed his hair color to pink, the feeling became triplicate. When Dean caught Castiel staring at him in the hallway, he lifted his middle finger and stuck out his tongue. It was no less than Castiel deserved, but oh, he still wanted Dean.

“Earth to Castiel. Come in, Castiel.”

Castiel looked up from his latte and into the face of Gabriel. The cups weren’t red anymore.

“What’s going on in that noggin of yours, kiddo?” Gabriel asked.

They’d met in secret. Castiel wasn’t allowed to see Gabriel or Luke, or even text or be friends with them on Facebook. Those were the rules his parents laid out for him and he followed them. He thumbed the plastic lid on his coffee and said, voice very, very low, “I’m gay.”

“Yeah, you are,” Gabriel said, “Are you going to do something about it?”

“I don’t know,” whispered Castiel, “I think I screwed up really badly, Gabe. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Does this have to do with Dean? Kid avoids me like the plague whenever he’s in the store. Walked straight out when he saw me the other day.”

“I was mean to him. No, I was cruel,” Castiel said, and proceeded to detail his assholery.

Gabe whistled and said, “That’s a heckuva situation, Cas. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You don’t understand,” Castiel said, feeling like a scolded child, “I was scared. I didn’t want mom and dad to find out because Uriel ran his stupid mouth. I’m still scared. Why couldn’t I be _normal_?”

“Dude,” Gabe said, “You are normal. It’s mom and dad who are the screwed up ones, okay? They kicked two kids out of their house. Who even does that? Not good people, that’s for sure. God and Jesus and all them guys say we’re supposed to love everybody, so what does booting their own children out say about them? And trust me, if there’s anyone that understands, it’s me. I’m one of the boot-ees, remember?”

“They’re going to kick me out, too.”

“You don’t have to come out until you’re ready, kiddo,” Gabriel said.

“I think I need to be ready,” Castiel said, not having realized the truth of the statement until it came out of his mouth, “When is your shift over? I think I need you to wait outside so you can drive me to your apartment after I do this.”

**X**

It went about as well as expected. Castiel came home and ascended the stairs to his bedroom, where he proceeded to pack up everything that he thought he would need in the coming weeks, all in a small suitcase that he used when the team flew to running events outside of the state. He packed everything for school and a few changes of clothes, his laptop and his favorite robe before there wasn’t any room anymore.

“Castiel, what on earth are you doing?” his mom asked. Castiel didn’t know how long she had been standing in the doorway to his bedroom. She stared at the suitcase as he zipped it and said, “It’s a school night. You aren’t going anywhere.”

Better to rip the proverbial Band-Aid, he figured.

“I’m gay,” Castiel said.

“I’m sorry; what did you just say?” his mother said.

“I’m gay,” repeated Castiel, gaining momentum as adrenaline coursed through him, “I’m an abomination, or whatever you think I am. I like boys. Actually, I like one boy in particular. He has pink hair and a tongue piercing. I’m going to live with Gabriel. Goodbye.”

“You – don’t speak to me in that tone of voice!” his mother cried, “Your father isn’t home. We need to talk about this. We can get you help!”

“I don’t need help,” Castiel said through gritted teeth. He whipped the retractable handle out of the suitcase and shoved past his mother. The suitcase banged down the stairs in discordance with the pounding of Castiel’s feet. He had to get out of there fast. He didn’t want to turn around and see the look on his mother’s face.

Outside, Gabriel waited in the shitty car that he’d had to buy himself with money that he scrimped and saved because he was already cut off from the family when he needed it. He opened the trunk and Castiel threw his suitcase into it. By the time that Castiel cast himself into the passenger’s seat and buckled himself in, he was panting.

“Are you okay?” asked Gabriel.

“No,” Castiel said, “but I can’t exactly change my mind now.”

“Nope, the cat’s out of the gay on that one,” Gabriel replied, “Welcome to The Gays, my brother.” He slapped Castiel on the back and peeled away from the house that would now be known to Castiel as his childhood home, and the place he was no longer welcome.

Gabriel’s apartment lay closer to Castiel’s childhood home than he thought. It took minutes to be on the crappier side of the suburbs, some handful of blocks away from the mall where Gabriel managed the Hot Topic. The parking lot that surrounded the structure was in disrepair, potholes poking the tar like swiss cheese.

“So, uh, I have to warn you,” Gabriel said, as he helped Cas unload the suitcase from the trunk, “Luke is kind of staying with me too.”

“Luke lives with you?” Castiel said, “Since when? I thought he moved to California.”

“Yeah, he did. For a while. Then he came back home, thinking mom and dad would have cooled down. Except not only had they not cooled down, but they’d kicked me out, too. So he came to me and we took out a lease on an apartment together. I told him you were cool but he didn’t believe me.”

Castiel and Gabe walked up three flights of stairs before they reached the apartment that belonged to Gabriel. Gabe inserted the key, but before he could turn it, the door swung open, and sure enough – there stood Lucifer, inexplicably in a black satin corset, lacy panties, fishnets, and a pair of knee-high boots.

Gabriel groaned, “That’s tonight?”

“Who the fu – _Castiel_?” Luke said.

“Why are you wearing that?” asked Castiel.

“I’m Frank’n’furter,” Lucifer said, as if this were a sentence that made sense.

“Well, this is a hell of a welcome to our new roomie,” Gabriel said. He shouldered his way past Lucifer and gripped Cas by the front of the t-shirt, dragging him along. Castiel dropped his suitcase in the middle of what appeared to be a living room littered in fast food garbage and movie posters.

“I’m sorry, did you just say that Castiel lives with us now?” Lucifer asked. He shut the apartment door behind him and placed one hand on his hip. It was really hard not to stare, especially being that his brother was wearing _panties and a corset._

“I’m gay,” Castiel said.

Lucifer’s brows rose ever-further into his hair. He said, “No shit. Welcome to the Queer House, baby gay.”

“Queer House?” asked Castiel.

“It’s what we call the apartment,” Gabriel said.

“I suppose that’s fitting,” Castiel remarked, “I have school tomorrow and I need to do my homework. Is there a clean surface I can use to do so?”

Gabriel and Lucifer exchanged a glance.

“We can make one?” Gabriel said, just as a knock sounded at the door.

“Shit, that’s my ride,” Luke said, “Well. I’d love to stay and watch this drama play out, but I have places to be and people to do.”

“Don’t you mean things to do?” said Castiel.

“Nope,” Luke winked, “I meant people.”

And Lucifer was out the door. The first time that Castiel sees his second oldest brother in years – actual years – and it’s for five minutes and he’s wearing a corset. Suddenly overwhelmed, Castiel collapsed on the couch and rubbed his hands over his face. Gabriel hurried forward and moved empty plates and plastic cups off of the coffee table. It took longer than Castiel thought possible to clear a coffee table, and even then Gabe had to wipe down several suspect stains with wet paper towels.

“Hey,” Gabriel said, “You can always take a sick day.”

Castiel hadn’t taken a sick day since he had pneumonia in seventh grade. He was healthy as a horse, but abruptly nothing sounded better than sleeping for a week and pretending that school didn’t exist. He nodded, dumb, and said, “Yes. That sounds like an excellent idea. I will call in sick.”

“All right,” Gabriel said, nodding, “You need anything?”

“A pillow and blanket?” Castiel said, voice small.

And then he burst into tears. He wiped at his eyes with closed fists, sniffling into the sleeves of his letterman jacket. Gabriel’s weight pressed down on the couch cushion beside him. Soon, his brother’s arm looped around his shoulders and he heard, “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. Let it out. You’re gonna be all right. This is the hard part.”

Castiel hoped that the hard part would be over soon.

**X**

Castiel allowed himself three days. For three days, he slept and moped about his childhood coming to a close, and a new dawn of living with his weird brothers coming to fruition. He only cried once more after the first night of residence after the Queer House, and then refused to shed anymore tears over his stupid parents and the life he used to live.

The next step would be to apologize to Dean. He wanted Dean so badly. He wanted to wrap his arms around Dean, wanted to feel Dean’s lips on his, wanted that tongue ring to explore his mouth and probably some other places too. He prepared a speech in the copious free time that three sick days and a weekend gave him, but geared himself up for rejection nonetheless.

On Monday, Gabriel gave Castiel a ride to school. He purchased Castiel a latte on the way there and said, “Look, if nothing else, sugar and caffeine love you. If you need anything just call…from the office, or whatever.” Castiel’s cellphone had worked for a mere twenty four hours after he left his house. Then his parents cut it off from the plan, and he realized that he’d have to find a job so that he could pay for his own phone.

“Thanks, Gabe.”

“Got your back, Cassie. Give ‘em hell,” Gabriel said.

Castiel sighed, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and marched into Smoky Vista High School.

Dean was there. His hair was freshly pink. When Dean spotted Cas, a momentary look of concern flitted over his face, but it lasted less than a second before it disappeared and Dean sneered at him instead. Castiel didn’t have the energy to react, so he didn’t. He simply walked to his locker and swapped out the books in his backpack for the ones he’d need that morning.

Despite seeing Dean in the hallway, he did not see Dean in AP Lit, nor did he see him during the period that Dean generally skipped his geometry class. Castiel figured he would have to corner Dean during lunch, but when the time came, Dean was no place to be found – until it occurred to Castiel that Dean liked to smoke. The smokers always went to the second story bathroom to do that, where no one ever seemed to clean and the smoke alarm didn’t work.

The bell rang and warned him that he needed to be in his computers class, but Castiel decided he didn’t care. It was more important to come clean to Dean. He hustled up the stairs and shoved past the throngs of people in the hallway. The men’s restroom door stood innocuously around a corner, the only door tucked into that part of the building. Castiel threw it open, but he found not only Dean, but Uriel and his friend Alastair, one of the stringy track team members that didn’t do any distance running.

“The fuck did you do to Castiel, huh?” Uriel said.

“Turned him into a fuckin’ faggot, is what,” said Alastair.

Castiel’s mind blanked out at the sight, went white with rage. He threw his backpack onto the floor and charged forward. He leapt between Alastair and Uriel’s fists and Dean and yelled, “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Beating the shit out of this asshole,” Uriel answered, “We heard you like dick now, Novak.”

“I always liked dick,” Castiel said indignantly, “If you lay another hand on him, I swear –”

Alastair threw his fist. Castiel countered it and whacked Alastair back. He didn’t think, just moved, just let anger guide his fists until Alastair was on the ground, nose bloodied. Both Uriel and Dean stared at Castiel as though he’d sprouted a second head. He snarled, “What?”

“Didn’t know you had such a mean right hook,” Dean said.

“Well, I do,” Castiel said, and turned his attention to Uriel, “Leave.”

Uriel turned tail and ran. Alastair wasn’t far behind – he scrambled to his feet and rolled out of the bathroom as though the very devil was on his heels. When Castiel returned his gaze to Dean, Dean no longer looked hostile. His green eyes were soft, thoughtful.

“Guess you came out, huh?” Dean said.

“Yes. Yes, I did,” confirmed Castiel, with a tight nod, “I live with Gabriel and Lucifer.”

“His full name is _Lucifer_?” asked Dean, “And your parents were surprised when he rebelled?”

“Trust me, the irony has not escaped me,” Castiel said. They paused, staring at each other. The speech that Castiel so carefully prepared was gone. He couldn’t remember a single word. Instead, he said, “For what it’s worth, I’m very sorry that I hurt you. I panicked and I did the wrong thing and I’ve felt like the worst ever since.”

“You’re not the worst,” Dean said, “You were a dick, but I’m, y’know. Proud of you, and stuff.”

“You are?” asked Castiel.

“Of course I am, idiot,” Dean said, and took Castiel’s hand in his, “We should clean you up a little. You got some bloody knuckles from beating Alastair’s face in.”

Dean guided Castiel to the sinks and wet a paper towel. With gentle hands, Dean dabbed at the blood smeared over Castiel’s knuckles until the abused flesh came away clean. Dean suggested, “You might want to wrap that up. You want me to take you to the nurse?”

“No, thank you,” Castiel said, “I was actually hoping that we could kiss and make up. My brother tells me that is a thing that people sometimes do.”

Dean laughed. He looped an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. He said, “It is something that people do, yeah.”

“Okay. Do you want to be a person that does that with me?”

Dean worried his lip piercing and glanced at the floor. When he looked back up, he said, “Look, Cas. I really like you. I missed you a lot.”

“I missed you too.”

“But the thing is, I don’t want you to change your mind about me,” Dean said, “You matter to me and I don’t want you to get tired of me and decide that you’re done.”

“Dean,” said Castiel, “I’m never going to be tired of you. You matter too much to me.”

They kissed then, and it was even sweeter than Castiel imagined all these months. It made his heart beat like a hummingbird’s. Every negative emotion, every sadness and regret, every worry and anxiety, whirled away as Dean’s lips moved over his. When Cas tasted Dean’s tongue, he melted against him and took Dean’s studded leather jacket in his hands, pressing as close as he could get.

“Hey,” Dean said, voice lower now, breath mingling with Castiel’s, “You wanna get outta here?”

“ _Yes_.”

They didn’t go far. Dean would still have to take his brother home from school at the end of the day. Castiel and Dean kissed against the side of the Impala. They traded all kinds of kisses: the sweet kind, the hot kind, little nipping kisses and long pulling ones. They kissed until Dean mumbled against Castiel’s lips, “Hang on, I’ve got an idea.”

Dean fumbled with his car keys and opened the back door. He pushed Castiel onto the backseat and crawled in after him, closing the door behind them both. It was a small space to be crammed into, especially since neither of them was a particularly small person. Dean grinned down at Castiel and Castiel grinned back up at him.

“Hey, so, here’s my idea,” Dean said, “You with me?”

“I’m right here.”

“That’s not what I – whatever. I’m thinking I want to pull down your pants. You wearing undies?”

“Boxers. Why?”

“Because I’m gonna take those off, too. And then I was thinking I’d try giving you a BJ. I’ve never done it before but I’ve watched a lot of porn and I got Google and I think I got the basics. What do you say?”

Castiel’s face heated. Dean Winchester – pretty, pink-haired, studded leather jacket Dean Winchester, wanted to put Castiel’s penis in his mouth. He managed, “That sounds nice. Would you let me try it on you back?”

“Well, I’m always a slut for blow jobs.”

Before Castiel could attempt to dignify that with a response, Dean’s hands were on the fly of his jeans. He undid them with a surprising amount of deftness, and hauled Castiel’s jeans down to his knees. He shoved the plain, pack-of-eight white boxers with the same amount of ceremony. For a long moment, Dean simply stared at Castiel’s crotch. The gaze went on long enough that Castiel felt compelled to clear his throat and ask, “Is it…adequate?”

“I was just thinking it’s nice,” Dean said, “I’ve never seen an uncut dick before.”

“Oh, well. Here’s one right here.”

Dean smacked Castiel’s shoulder and muttered, “Shut up.”

Castiel wanted to say something clever back, but he didn’t have time. Dean lowered his pink-haired head and gave a tentative lick to the head of Cas’ cock. Cas’ hips bucked up and he gasped. He hadn’t expected the sensation to be so strong, hadn’t considered how much he’d want more in mere seconds. He was hard faster than he ever had become before.

Dean continued shy ministrations at first, licks and kisses, until wet heat enclosed over the head of Castiel’s dick. Cas cried out. He thrust his hands into Dean’s hair and took handfuls of the pink stuff, tugging up. Dean let out a moan around Castiel’s cock at his hair being pulled. Dean sucked down as much as he could and used his hand to cover the rest of Castiel’s cock. It took him a little to find a good angle and rhythm. Once Dean did find it, his movements were clumsy, but it was still the best thing that Castiel had ever felt in his entire life.

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel managed, pulling at Dean’s hair again, “I’m not going to – t-to last.”

Dean doubled his efforts, bobbing his head with renewed enthusiasm. The orgasm that up until that point had been on a slow roll, building up in Castiel’s belly, exploded like a dying star. He let out an unholy noise and thrust up into Dean’s mouth. Dean swallowed, or rather tried his best to, but a little bit of come leaked out of the side of his mouth. Castiel laughed and wiped it away with his thumb. His head felt too light, too giddy. His brains had been sucked out through his dick. That had to be it.

“My turn,” he said.  Castiel didn’t bother to pull his pants back up. He simply pushed Dean onto his back. His wrestling with Dean’s jeans took quite a bit longer than Dean had taken with his own, but to be fair, Dean’s jeans were so tight they could have been painted on. When Castiel finally peeled them back, he revealed a pair of comic book boxers.

“Why am I not surprised.”

“Shut up.”

Dean’s cock was already hard, flushed pink and thick against his soft belly. A bead of precome leaked from the tip. Castiel decided to taste it. Dean’s hips jerked at the contact and he groaned, long and low and the perfect sound to lead Castiel down, sinking his mouth down around Dean Winchester’s penis.

With only three ducks of Castiel’s head and a deft amount of sucking, Dean came in his mouth. It tasted salty, but Castiel didn’t mind. It seemed right, somehow.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean remarked, when Castiel shifted to lie alongside Dean, arm slung over Dean’s middle.

“I hope that means something good.”

“It means it was awesome,” Dean said, “This is going to be awkward with our dicks hanging out, but my mom is gonna want you over for dinner. You game?”

“Yes, Dean, I am ‘game,’” Castiel said, with air quotes.

Dean leaned over and kissed the corner of Castiel’s mouth. He said, “Sweet. Friday night is burger night. Be there or be square.”

They both chuckled. Castiel felt the jostle of Dean’s laughter against his ear, where he rested his head on Dean’s chest. At least in the chaotic swirl of the universe, he thought, one thing is right. This was right. Nothing was the same as it was, and somehow, that seemed okay.

Yes, Castiel thought, as Dean rubbed circles over his back, they were going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a commission for the lovely neveranygoodupthere. If you are interested in a commission, please contact me at my Supernatural tumblr, scarlettofletters.tumblr.com. Thank you!


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